


For You

by AugustIsComing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabbles, Ficlets, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Underage Drinking, or whatever, prompted fics, sorry babu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustIsComing/pseuds/AugustIsComing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so today (20/03/2014) is my babu's 19th birthday, and as I live on the other side of the world... I just needed to do something.<br/>So here is a collection of 24 little destiel thingies based off this post's prompts http://casinthongs.tumblr.com/post/45294936807/<br/>By the way, Miss Basia... I really love you. And I wish you the happiest of birthdays. And many more to come. And I hope I'll be able to be there in all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amuse Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kety777 (belovedstill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...funny drabble about one character trying to cheer another up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was the shittiest one. Sorry. I promise the next ones should be better. <3

“Dean. Look. There's a bee on your arm! Isn't she pretty?” 17 year old Castiel Novak questioned his best friend, 16 year old Dean Winchester, a big smile on his face.

Of course he had just forgotten Dean's acute apiphobia.

“What!?” Asked the now extremely still teenager, the panic obvious in his eyes. “Cas. Cas, take it away, Castiel please!”

“Oh, no, Dean, I was lying.” The older boy flopped on the couch by his friend, and Dean shot him a very sour look, about to begin to lecture him on how phobias work again, but Castiel was one step ahead. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry... You know that I love bees, and I thought it might cheer you up a bit!”

“Yeah, Cas. I'd be happily having a panic attack. Thanks.” The Winchester rolled his eyes and went back to sulking.

“Dean. I'm sorry.” Castiel mumbled after some time of silence.

“Look, you could have just told me, okay?”

The brunette sighed.

“Why don't we buy some pie? It'll make you feel better.” He suggested hopefully.

“Fuck you.”

Both of them sighed then, and they stared straight ahead for a moment. A small smirk broke through Castiel's lips.

“What are you laughi--” Dean started asking, but suddenly a wild-haired, blue-eyed teenage boy was on top of him, probably trying to tickle the life out of him.

Dean laughed in surprise, but a moment later he started squirming, trying to just get Castiel off.

“Fu- Cas! Castiel! Get off! Get off! Get the fuck off me!”

Castiel's laughter died then when he heard Dean's tone, and he moved to sit by the teenager once more.

Dean tried to regain his breath as nobly as he could, his jaw locked in a way that got Castiel wondering how much it hurt to keep it like that.

“Dean, you're being insufferable.” He finally said.

And that was just too far past Dean's snapping point. He got to his feet in a split second.

“Look, Castiel, I have to learn from that British scum bag cousin of yours that you are as gay as I am! I came out to you...” He took in a shuddering breath. “I came out to you, afraid you'd tell me I was going to hell and that you hated me. And you simply... How could you?”

How mad Dean was opened place to how hurt he felt, and for just a moment Castiel could see him at his most vulnerable.

“Dean, you know my family. It was hard to come to terms with this.” Cas sighed, lying his head back on Dean's living room sofa. “It took me a while to admit it to myself. Balthazar listened to the constant ranting.”

“Why didn't I listen to the constant ranting? You listened to some of mine!”

“Okay, next time I need to cry in someone's ear for over three hours, I promise I'm coming for you.” Castiel said, sitting straight up and looking at Dean, hoping they were over this now. He was just no good at making his friend feel better, and he hated it.

“Okay.” Dean agreed sincerely, and Castiel sighed, relieved. “So... Is that pie still up?”


	2. Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...an angsty drabble..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was my favourite one so far. I may have broken things too badly? Well. I'm sorry.

Castiel had to be cursed. He'd always fly so high he'd be able to reach heaven before falling down so hard he felt as if he had been torn to pieces.

But this was different. He felt as if he had reached the bottom of the well and kept going under. Not even Dean could reach him now. But Cas could see his face from down there.

The little dot on the top of the well. You could tell he was just as miserable because his synonym of happiness involved being close to his husband.

Castiel's synonym of happiness had been forgotten. There was no happiness, so it was lost.

Once upon a time Castiel dreamed a beautiful dream. He'd marry Dean Winchester and he'd have his babies.

Once upon a time Castiel thought it could actually become reality.

On a Thursday three months ago he jumped off the bed and ran into their bathroom. He threw up the entirety of his dinner, and so it was every morning for the next three days, until Dean decided something had to be wrong.

They walked in the hospital with thoughts of viruses, and walked out of it with thoughts of pretty dark haired girls with green eyes, and handsome blond blue eyed boys.

 _"Risk"_ had been the word Castiel had heard the most that day, and maybe he should have actually listened, but there was the sound of crying babies in his ears, and the smell of their little heads close to his nose, and the feeling of their soft skin on his finger tips.

From that moment on, Dean and Cas' love seemed to have been somehow magnified to it's maximum power. Everything tasted good, every bad moment was minor.

Until the actually bad moments came.

At first there was blood found on sheets.

And then there was a ride to the hospital that took forever to become a ride back home.

At first there was a baby.

And then there was none.

It felt so empty in Castiel now.

For a moment, just a brief second, he had shared his body with another soul. He had been able to feel it.

There was another human being right inside of him, and he had never felt so good and so alive.

Nevermind the risks, nevermind the probabilities and statistics.

That feeling was too good to ever drip away.

And yet here he was.

They showed him it.

The little deformed thing that was supposed to have been their son or daughter... The source of their joy, the cause for their proud tears.

It was a bloody mess, and he never understood why would they rub it under his nose.

The thing that moments before had been a soul, a body, a child.

The thing that was bigger than Castiel and Dean together. Bigger than the whole universe, with all its amazing, brilliant potential.

The baby that never was, was cremated. Castiel found it a little trunk, and he scattered the ashes on a windy day.

That had not been morbid.

That had been the only moment of parenthood he'd ever get to grasp.

When he let his little offspring fly away with the flower petals and the yellowish leaves, he had been giving it the freedom one day it would have earned.

He had turned it back to the universe.

Dean had been there, and Dean had been silent.

Castiel's beloved God had failed him. Castiel's beloved husband had been impotent.

Everything he believed in seemed to be letting him down, and Dean had no courage to open his mouth, to blink, to breathe, to cry.

That had been his child, too, though. His dreams, his hopes... The ones he shared with Cas, the ones no one would ever know.

There was, of course, the unspoken possibility.

They could try again.

Maybe Cas couldn't conceive, but Dean was bigger, stronger.

The thought made them both sick for then, so it remained a thought only.

Between them, there had been simple, careful touches. The tears that came and went were never mentioned, never acknowledged.

If they ever felt the strength, maybe. Maybe someday in the future, when the well became shallower, and the pain became numb.

For then, they'd sit together alone.

The lovers that would never grow apart, the ones who would remain.

That feeling that had been heightened by the fantasy of a child did not grow weaker ever again.

And if that was all they could ever get, it was okay. They'd be okay.

Castiel would be the artist, painting colours never seen.

Dean would know art in a different way. In grease stains on his green shirt, the rumbling of motors.

So different, and yet they fit together.

One would always look upon the other, would always guide the way, would always push when there were no muscles working, always pull when fear came.

A broken vessel could never again be mended back into its initial beauty.

But Dean thought Castiel looked just as gorgeous as ever after he'd been stitched back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I said I was sorry...


	3. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a drabble about one character asking for another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is my baby. It's Dean centred, and I'm sorry, I do understand your status as a Cas!Girl... But it'll make sense. ;)

“Castiel!?” Dean called, an excited smile on his face. “Cas, man, come on... It's Sam! You must miss Sam! Just show up for five seconds?”

No one, of course, showed up for him. Sam sighed. The first time Dean had seen his angel companion, according to Dad, he had been not much older than six.

By then, and for the several following years, the angel had been considered an imaginary friend, and sharing their house, car, and even tents with him had been easy.

When Dean turned twelve, though, and Castiel was still around, Mary and John started to worry. Psychologists blamed it on several social disorders, but it didn't actually matter the name the doctors gave it.

Before Dean had been thrown here, he did quite well. He studied and got a job, and although there were constant mentions of his best friend, Castiel, people quite... Accepted him. Castiel stayed home while Dean was working, and no one ever cared to actually question why Dean would pick up a phone that had not rang.

Things had gone out of control, though, after Mary died.

The angel never left then. He had been in the funeral, and wherever Dean went, there he was. Sometimes, Dean could be seen openly talking to thin air. His head had been resting on invisible shoulders, and Sam could have sworn he had walked in on them kissing this one time, but Dean had chuckled and commented (with Castiel) how there was a good side of people not seeing him after all.

John snapped, unable to cope with the grief of losing the love of his life, and watching his “demented” 25-year-old son talking to empty space.

And here they were.

Dean had a nice private room in the asylum, and Sam came visiting at least once a week. Jessica, his fiancé, usually came as well, but today that wasn't the case.

Sam woke from his thoughts to find a distressed Dean sitting across from him on the chair.

“He's thinking about leaving, you know.” He said, his eyes scanning the room, as if looking for something. “He hasn't been home for some time.” The older Winchester sniffed. “Says he doesn't like how I get when I'm here.”

“I'm so sorry, Dean.” Sam said, unsure what that could mean. If Castiel left, would Dean be cured? Would he have his brother back?

What brother though? The only Dean he had ever known was the Dean that saw Castiel in every corner. The Dean that shared a drink with his pretty boy angel on the backyard, that had announced a few years ago that they were dating, but “please don't tell Dad, I don't think he'd understand.”

“I hope he thinks this through and changes his mind.” Sam declared, deciding it was a very honest answer for both him and Dean.  
His brother shot him a real happy smile.

“Thanks Sam.” Dean said, throwing his arms around him in a hug. “Thank you.”

Suddenly Dean's head snapped away, and he was staring straight at a point on the wall.

“Cas!” He yelled in happiness, his arms leaving Sam's shoulders and closing around a waist that he could not see. “I'm so glad you're back. I missed you.”

Sam cleared his throat.

“Uh, hey, Cas. It's... Nice to... Meet you again.” He wasn't sure if that was the best choice of words, but he chose them nonetheless.“Anyways... I better get going. Give you guys some quality time together. It was good talking to you as well, Dean. Dad says hi.”

“No he doesn't.” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Goodbye, Sammy. Thanks for visiting. Send Jess my and Cas' love, okay?”

Sam nodded, walking up to the door.

Just before he closed it, for a split second, he thought he might have seen a dark haired man, with a five o'clock shadow in a trench coat wrap his arms around Dean. When he looked again, of course, Castiel was gone, and Sam was left unsure, as he walked down the isle, waving goodbye to one of the nurses, if he was thankful or disappointed for that.


	4. Drink Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a drabble about characters drinking"

Castiel did not enjoy drinking. He did enjoy the consequences of it, though, at least most part of the time.

He still remembered the first time he had ever drank. He'd been fourteen years old, and he and Dean were hiding in Sam's tree house. Each of them got a shot of whisky. It burned their throats and their mouths, and it tasted not so nice, but after it they had giggled like criminals, and blamed the happiness and the tingles of spending a day together on the alcohol.

After that, many parties had been thrown on other people's backyards, and Dean and Cas used to get smash faced together, and make out later.

They both liked to pretend they couldn't remember it afterwards, which was good.

Today, Castiel was drinking for courage. There was something he needed to do, a thing he needed to try, and so it was that he found himself and Dean Winchester in John Winchester's Impala, the window glasses fogged up, but it was too cold for them to care.

They were parked by the lake, and the sun had set not long before.

Castiel took a sip from the bottle he had in hand and looked around. There was rock music playing lowly on the radio, their coats were on the front seats, and they were sitting facing each other on the back ones, their legs tangled together not exactly comfortably, but it was okay.

Dean finished his beer can and threw it towards the front of the car. They'd have to clean up later.

“So?” He questioned, his green eyes clear and almost sparkly, even in the dim light. He knew Cas had something to say, and he knew what his answer would be, but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“Dean...” Cas began, settling the bottle on the cup holder in the front of the car and regretting it a moment too late when he noticed now he had nothing to do with his hands, but to fumble with them. He was surprised when Dean took one of his hands in his own, playing with the fingers distractedly, pretending he was already drunk. Castiel's tone got lower. “Dean. You do know... Well. We both know what's been going on between us lately.”

The blond simply nodded, finally looking up into Castiel's extremely blue eyes.

“I'd like to know...” What? What would he like to know? Dean's “intentions”? What if he had none? What if he said they'd just been playing around? “Where are we going? With... This?”

Dean smiled lightly.

“Well, Cassie. I believe you are acquainted with the birds and the bees?” Dean said, holding Castiel's hand properly and squeezing it a bit as he put on a suggestive look, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Dean.” Cas reprimanded, both the nickname, and what Dean was suggesting. He rolled his eyes. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“No, I don't.” The Winchester lied.

“Well. Are we going to hide in your father's car forever?” The dark haired teenager pressed, taking his hand away. “Or...?” He didn't dare to finish his question.

“I thought hiding in my father's car was quite productive.” Dean teased, winking.

“Dean.”

“No, Cas.” Dean answered, rolling his eyes, feeling a bit nervous now, though. “We're not gonna hide in here forever. At least... It wasn't the plan.”

“Oh. Oh... Is there a plan?” Castiel was surprised. He didn't actually have a plan himself.

Dean leaned in closer before answering to that, their mouths almost touching as he spoke, his legs in a weird angle so they'd be out of the way.

“The plan, Cassie...” The Winchester began saying, his voice barely something louder than a teasing whisper. “Is to get you. To get you naked on my bed and fuck you senseless. And then have you have dinner with my family, so my mom will coo all over you, and my dad will try not to hate you too much, and Sam will want to have your attention so you two can geek out, but my hand...” He stopped, setting his hand on top of Castiel's thigh demonstratively. “Will be much more demanding.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “So? What do you think?”

“A-about what?” Castiel asked, confused, Dean's closeness making him dizzy.

“About my plan.” The blonde explained, drawing even closer, and now they were breathing each other's air, and it smelt of booze and mint.

“I think...” Castiel sucked in a deep breath, the car spinning around him slightly. God, he hated drinking. “I need a drink, that's what I think.”


	5. Enamor Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a fluffy drabble with characters trying to woo one another"

Castiel opened his locker, and was immediately attacked by a pile of cards.

The dark haired teenager blushed. _Dean..._ He thought, smiling a bit as he got all of the red and pink cards from the floor.

Dean had asked Castiel out a week ago, and after Cas shyly turning him down, this had been happening everyday. Well. Not the cards thing. Just this... Cliché thingy.

Dean Winchester had gotten himself quite the fame after dating more than half the seniors in their high school, both boys and girls, while still on his freshman year.

The older Winchester had made a mess, but after his second year began, he quieted down. A lot.

Castiel Novak, though, was still much quieter than him, and although Dean was gorgeous, it was hard for him to say yes. He just didn't want to get hurt.

But Dean seemed to have taken his “no” for “only if you prove you're worth a try”.

He had gotten flowers and poems and _cards_ and three CDs filled with love songs.

It was really quite ridiculous, but Castiel felt important when he opened his locker to find the day's gift. As if someone had finally noticed him, and cared to make sure he was happy.

When the Novak sat silently and alone on a bench during lunch time it didn't take much for Dean to join him.

“Hey there, Cas.” He greeted, a charming smile on his face.

“Hello, Dean.”

“So, how d'you like your gift today?” The blonde asked, winking down at Cas.

Castiel sighed.

“Please stop sending them, Dean.” He hoped his voice did not betray how he actually felt. The cards had all been handwritten, and all he wanted to do was get home and read them.

“Castiel.” Dean called, suddenly serious, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Yes?” Cas' voice came out a bit breathless, his blue eyes getting locked onto those amazingly green one.

“Let's go out.” Dean said, and it almost sounded like a demand.

“No.”

“Cas...”

“Dean, please stop this.” Castiel asked, not for the first time in the last week.

“Just one date. I promise if you hate it you can leave in the middle while you pretend you left to the bathroom.” Dean's pleading tone was hard to hear.

“I don't even understand why suddenly you feel this urge to go out with me!” Cas protested. It did make him angry that this was his last year of high school and no one had ever noticed him before, but now, out of the blue, Dean did. “I'm not good looking. Or funny. Or attractive in any way at all. My hair is always a mess. My lips are weird. My eyes are too big.” The Novak cited his flaws, trying to open Dean's eyes. “I'm not exceptionally smart or intelligent. I've never even had a friend in my life except for my brothers!”

“Wow, yeah, you did it, I hate you now.” Dean commented sarcastically, getting up so he would stand above Castiel's height. “Why won't you understand that I like you? Why won't you just accept it? Look, I know... I know this seems sudden. But you've never...” Dean made a pause, and he looked upset, even more than Cas was, so the older boy just stayed quiet as Dean looked away from him for a moment, before his eyes were dead set on him. “You've never seen yourself smile when someone says something funny, but you don't laugh with the others, because you're just too reserved. You've never seen the way your eyes just have... This spark when there are burgers for lunch. You've never seen the way you bite your pens when we're taking a test, and you're thinking hard about one of the questi..."

Dean did not get a chance to finish his speech. Castiel's lips were on his, and maybe the older boy had never kissed anyone before, but it didn't matter right then. Dean cared. Dean worried. Dean thought about him, he caught the details.

It was so important and so overwhelming, Cas wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go. Instead, he was about to step away when the Winchester seemed to come back to life, one of his arms wrapping around Cas' waist, his free hand touching his face, bringing him closer.

"Go out with me..." Castiel breathed out after they finally broke apart.

Dean smiled warmly. He loved that it wasn't a question.

"Yes."

 


	6. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a drabble about one character fighting alongside another"

Castiel kills one last demon before he finally stops and takes a breath.

Across the street, Dean was killing his own demon.

It still surprised Castiel sometimes, being an angel, that Dean, as a human, could beat almost as much demons as he could, maybe not at the same time, but definitely with the same efficiency.

The hunter only made a few more swift moves before the knife he had in hand was lodged on the demon's chest, and the creature's eyes flickered before it fell to the ground.

Dean gave him a pleased smile as he walked over to him, giving the angel's shoulder a small slap of his hand.

"Good hunt, Cas." He congratulated with a wink.

"Thank you, Dean. You too." All the angel offered him was a small smile.

The sort of simple, shy smile that was usually the biggest one he ever put on. But Dean understood. Dean knew what it meant, his smile, and the back of his hand bumping against the back of Dean's as they walked to the Impala, as if he couldn't just zap away to wherever he wanted to be.

From the Impala to whatever cheap motel they would be crashing in tonight before going back to the Bunker, even though they could simply just go home that night.

But one more night in the motel was worth the moments alone, the moments when Dean walked in the bathroom and didn't lock the door, and Castiel took a shower with him because he wanted to, not because he needed to at all. 

Moments of Castiel easing his pain away, and curing a wound, and kissing his sore neck better.

Moments when the fights and the demons and even the angels would be forgotten, because _oh, that touch right there feels so good_ , and  _yes, yes, that's it, please, don't stop now_ , and  _God, Dean, nothing tastes better than your atoms_. _  
_

And Dean would chuckle and Cas's would be too damn soaked in pure bliss to care, and they'd be as loud as they wished, as rough as they wanted, taking as long as they needed to take.

Castiel and Dean might be warriors. They might be the best in that. And they might have been born for the trenches. But in those silent nights, they were nothing but lovers. And if anyone ever had the chance to hear the poems that were written in the light bruises that got stuck to their skins for not too long - never long enough - they would haven known that no one else had ever loved as truly.


	7. Get Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a drabble about one character saving another..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...from an existential crisis.

Castiel sat silently on the Impala's front seat as Dean drove on.

He was no longer an angel, was he? His grace had been stripped away and he had been labelled a puppet for yet another _big plan_.

Why must all the plans be so much bigger than he was?

Castiel was tired of being everyone's puppet. God's. Metatron's. Lord, he had served every single person on the list, from demons to angels to humans and even leviathans.

Would he ever just... Belong to himself?

He felt like sighing, but he was too tired.

It was like he held the whole world on his shoulders, and of course he had actually done that before, so he had something to compare this to. Then he was strong, though, and he had been capable of doing so literally. Now he was so weak even figuratively speaking it was the biggest task he had ever had to go through.

What was Castiel now? An angel stuck in a vessel. An angel stuck to the ground. He had wrecked wings and no grace. _Was_ he an angel at all?

He was not human – his real form was still there, his body of light, he just couldn't free it.

Castiel was going through an existential crisis. Did angels even do that? He didn't even know anymore. Maybe he had stopped being an angel of the lord for longer than he had lived without his grace.

At that point, Dean turned the radio on. Some of his rock music filled the air, and it was a song the hunter often listened to, therefore Castiel was used to it.

Dean nodded his head slowly to it, singing along lowly. He seemed happy and satisfied with something, and Castiel didn't understand what was there to be happy about. Why did he even want to be happy? He'd never felt such urges before all of this mess started.

“Cas.” Dean called when the song was over, those green eyes locking onto Castiel's face, and he looked towards Dean looking for answers.

Cas. Was he Cas? Who was Cas? There was no such thing as a nickname up in heaven. All there used to be was certainty. Now his whole life was a question mark.

“Chill out, dude.” Dean continued, his smile small and warm. His hand rested on top of Castiel's thigh, and he squeezed it lightly. Something flood Castiel's system.

Comfort? _Comfort._

At its purest, most _raw_ form. Comfort touching every cell of his body, every corner of every atom, angelical or human.

“It's all gonna be okay. The world is okay. Sammy is okay. We're more than okay. Family... Family is all back to normal.” The Winchester assured, and Castiel didn't count on it reassuring him of anything, but it did.

Castiel's core was glowing. He could feel it. He was warm inside, so he must be glowing. But Dean didn't look alarmed, and when Cas looked down upon himself there was no glow.

The vessel took over then and it took more than it should have, for in the next moment Dean's hand was under his own and Cas was holding onto it tightly.

 _Cas_. He'd been calling himself “Cas” inside his head. Because, maybe, after all, that's who he was.

Dean's hand stayed where it was, only moving to fit their fingers together in an even more perfect manner.

The question marks started to fade. The only one left in his head right then was _who had he been trying to kid?_

He was Cas Winchester. He was part of their family, their clan. He was one of them just as much as Dean was, and Dean, in fact, seemed to agree with that conclusion as he rested his head back on the seat, looking straight to the road ahead of them, and now Castiel could understand where happiness was.

That was where it had been hidden all this time.

In the palm of Dean Winchester's hand. In the curve of his nose. In the shade of green in his eyes.

Dean had managed to take all the happiness in the universe and hide it in his humanity, in his fragile, ageing body.

Castiel didn't mind it at all, though. It seemed like a pretty reasonable place for joy to hide in, and he'd have total access to it if it only stayed there.

Cas sincerely doubted it was going anywhere.

 


	8. Haunt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about one character watching over another

 

> _“Dear Castiel, it's weird not to remember your own brother, but I suppose life just swings the way it feels it has to.”_

 

Castiel was not spying. It was not “creepy”.

He was taking care of Dean. Maybe he couldn't heal him, but he could... Look over him. All of his prayers were about this man. This man he... Felt so much for.

Being an angel meant Castiel didn't ever feel anything. He just followed orders, good little soldier. He didn't feel bad about them, he didn't feel happy about them. He couldn't feel guilty or pleased. It was just how it was, and he was not aware of the great range of emotions he could possibly feel until he had come down and actually taken a vessel. Castiel had been on Earth before, of course, but there never was the necessity to take a human form.

But now he had lived inside Jimmy Novak for so long, he felt as if... No. Stop right there. The big deal was that he felt at all. Castiel felt. Jimmy's feelings, at first, mainly, but after some time his own feelings began to be born.

Those feelings were mainly about Dean Winchester and he should have known trouble would come from that, but he wouldn't dare to quit any of his missions because of them. And his missions were many, and the feelings were stronger each moment he spent by the damned hunter.

The damned hunter he worked so much to free from his damnation. The damned hunter he gripped tight and raised from perdition.

Castiel always worked so hard. He worked so hard to please God, and to please Dean, and eventually he learned he could even please himself.

He had put so much on his own shoulders, and he had failed because of that weight. He had failed and now Dean was hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was not weak, but he was definitely not strong enough. How low had Castiel fallen. Sam hated him and blamed him. Dean... Dean right then could barely even remember him.

It was funny how life went. Although _funny_ was definitely not the right word for how Dean Winchester had fought so hard and sacrificed so much to eventually end up like this.

Humanity is so terribly frail. It really is worrisome, how things can be there, and then they're gone.

Dean's mind was there. And then it was gone. Lost. It almost looked like a bad joke or a prank gone wrong, except it wasn't.

Random little angel decided to play God and changed Dean Winchester's life forever.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Dean wakes up early and eats his breakfast. He prays and goes to work by nine, and eats his lunch by one, when he prays again. By six he goes home, eats and takes a shower. Dean sometimes drops by Sammy's and they have dinner, drink and talk. Sometimes being every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Sometimes they go out on Fridays, though. Sometimes being twice a month. On Saturdays he either stays home watching crappy TV and getting over Friday's hangover, or he just watches crappy TV and takes care of Baby. On Sundays he goes to church. Before falling asleep, every night, Dean prays.

Dean's prayers are the best moments of Castiel's existence. Because for those brief moments, he can almost pretend as if nothing changed.

 

 

> _"Dear Castiel, Sam always seems so surprised when I tell him I do go to church every Sunday. Why can't he see it, when whenever I look it's just as if there was angel dust – is that even a thing? – everywhere?”_

 

> **_“Dear Castiel, I don't know why, but praying to God doesn't seem to make that much sense. You feel so much closer, angel. I feel your breath on my neck and your hand upon my shoulder and... It is not as creepy as it sounds, I promise. It's just right. Thank you for being around, I guess.”_ **

 

> _“Dear Castiel, was it you who put Lucy in my life? I don't know, but I sure thank you.”_

 

> **_“Dear Castiel, bless us with your... Blessing? We want to get married. I know we shouldn't go at it before marriage and all that crap, but we did, and she's pregnant... Take care of her.”_ **

 

Castiel watched and listened as Dean's life slid into a normal human life. He was no longer a hunter. He was this random mechanic from Kansas. Sam stuck around to take care of his brother, happy to finally be able to live a normal life himself.

Castiel's feelings did get all weird sometimes, even more after Lucy showed up – he certainly hadn't put her there –, but he was happy for Dean.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. For the first time in his life Castiel had been counting time as a human. It went by so much slower than it seemed to, and at the same time it was all going way too fast. Each day was a little infinity of following Dean around. And each day was a day less Dean had to be alive. That realisation also made Castiel's feelings... Feel a way that he now knew was bad. But there was not much he could do but what he was doing.

Stopping a car hoist from failing, and a bus from driving past a red light. Stopping a demon from getting in town, and any monster from finding Dean's beautiful daughter (Sam had prayed to him at that. “Cas, I know you're here, man... Time for some heavenly protection, 'kay? Right at least one of your wrongs.” To which Castiel only replied that he had taken care of the matter already.)

The town they lived in was guarded from pretty much anything, thanks to Castiel.

There were things Castiel could not stop, though.

 

 

> _“Dear Castiel, Lucy died, and you didn't save her. It's so stupid – how could she simply slip in the shower? –, that if feels as if someone has to take the guilt. Is it okay if I pretend to put it on your holy shoulders?”_

 

> **_“Dear Castiel, is it childish if I'm 48 and still believe that I have a guardian angel?”_ **

 

> _“I really wish I could hate you, Castiel, because my wife is dead and my baby girl just moved away. But Sam is still around, and I never quite stop feeling your presence. I feel as if you're my friend, the oldest and best one, and it's so hard, Cas, because I can't see you. Why can't I see you? People always talk about those “I saw an angel in a desert road” experiences. Why can't you be that kind of angel? You can't be that ugly. I'm not sure I'd mind having a glimpse of your winged ass.”_

 

> **_“I think I'm going mad, Castiel. I keep dreaming about this dark haired guy in a trench coat. Every night. Non-stop. We have deep talks about life and heaven and hell. I guess I like him a bit. Though he's kinda... Odd.”_ **

 

> _“Mary is marrying some douche from England, Cas. Can you believe it? I'm pretty sure I was changing her nappies just yesterday. If he really is a jerk, can you kick his British “arse” for me? Also... The dreams have not stopped. I'm not sure I want them to at this point.”_

 

> _**“Sam is moving away today, Castiel. I understand. He's gonna be a judge. It's his dream and he deserves better than this little town in Kansas. In his defence he invited me to go with him, but I feel as if leaving here would be like leaving me. I barely know me at all, and I can't dare to go away. What if I start to forget the little information I collected?”** _

 

Dean's prayers almost certainly involved questions in the past few years. He was growing old, and it was hard to grasp that when he couldn't remember having lived that long.

His body did, though, and showed signs of it. Wrinkles here, spots there, his back always hurt and his hair looked much lighter than the sand blond it used to be, with all the white hairs accumulating.

Castiel wanted to step in, show his face, tell him everything. But he could not be certain Dean would take that well. Maybe he'd go insane, as Sam had. Maybe Castiel would break Dean's wall, and this time he wasn't sure if he could simply transfer the madness into himself. Because he was selfish, and he preferred to watch Dean's endless stream of one night stands become his wife and his wife become his constant loneliness after his daughter left. He preferred to long after Dean, than to risk losing him in case he remembered.

So he just invaded dreams and talked to Dean. He liked Dean so much. So much, he had been able to label that feeling. _Love._ Castiel, the angel of the Lord, loved Dean Winchester. It didn't take much for him to notice he was probably _in love_ with the man, as well, but that was so out of reach he didn't even think that much about it.

He didn't mind just watching and listening, and every once in a while answering to some questions in Dean's dreams.

The angel knew that Dean probably was aware by now that the dark haired man in his dreams was Castiel, but, going by his thoughts, he just concluded he had created this random image of the angel.

Castiel pretended that wasn't going a step too far, and their routine never changed.

When Dean got older, and became unable to actually support himself all alone, Mary took him to a “rest home”. Dean hated it, but Castiel liked the new arrangements.

On a not so random Tuesday, on Dean's sixty-eighth birthday, a few months after Dean had started living there, a new nurse was introduced to the elders in the House of the Setting Sun.

Dean smiled as he spotted the dark haired, blue eyed man, who he knew so well, even when he changed out of his trench coat and into the rest home's uniform.

“Hey, there, pretty boy angel.” He greeted the much younger man, his green eyes shining in a way Castiel thought they never would again. _Joy_ , Castiel was quite sure, was the feeling spreading in his own chest in that moment. “How've you been?”

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Dean wakes up and eats his breakfast. It's usually really early, so Cas dresses him in warm clothes and takes him to the garden so they can watch the sun rising, and if Dean's in pain, Cas tells him what it looks like to see the sun rising from Mars, or how very silent it is up in space, and how Dean is handsome in every universe he has ever visited. If it's winter or autumn, they'll stay inside and drink hot chocolate Dean shouldn't be allowed to have, and Dean describes all kinds of feelings to Castiel. Sometimes the angel recognises them, sometimes they're harder to grasp. By noon, Dean and all the other elders have lunch in the canteen. Cas likes to hear about the other people's life stories, so Dean is strolled around as the angel talks to everybody. Sometimes Dean dozes off, the resident cat on his lap. Dean goes to bed at six, where he has dinner and after that, if he can't sleep, which happens more often than not by now, Castiel slips in his bedroom and sings Hey Jude to him.

On Mondays it's Pudding Day, Tuesdays' main events are the Bingo Nights, and Wednesdays' afternoons are artsy. Thurdays are Doctor's Day, and on Fridays they have pie. Saturday is visiting day, and Sam comes over once a month, as does Mary. On Sundays, Dean makes Cas read him books he doesn't pay any attention to. Jimmy Novak's voice had to have been specially made by God, so it would make Dean the happiest man on Earth, no matter in which state his brain was.

Dean never feels the need to pray again. 

Castiel does not feel as if he's a ghost any more.

It's all as peachy as it gets, really, and when Dean is ready to go, Cas batters away the greedy reaper's hands and carries his soul to Heaven himself. The angel is happy to finally bring his _home_... Well. Home.


	9. Inspire Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about a character inspiring another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was recently written and I don't even know why/how it turned out like this. It was supposed to be light, but yes. I don't even know.

Writing had been feeling harder and harder to do for Dean Winchester. His words seemed to have begun to fail him, and it was scary. It felt lonely. It felt just as bad as waiting for Sam to leave had felt.

Dean lived in a nice little flat in London City. Moving there had probably been one of the hardest decisions he had had to make, but he still did not regret it.

His brother had moved out, went to live with some chick. Both his parents were dead. He was a writer who barely lived off a collection of poems he had managed to get printed. The US didn’t feel like home anymore, so he left. 

The flat came with a cat, way too needy for Dean to get rid of him, despite the money he had to waste with antihistamines and food. 

Samandriel, the light ginger cat who liked to laze on his lap most of the time, was his guarantee of taking care of someone no matter what. Maybe Sam had outgrown him, but Samandriel never could.

His life was not one you could call adventurous or even inspiring. People came. People left. Everyone wrote about that already.

Dean wanted to write thrillers, mysteries... He wanted to intrigue.

But he couldn’t.

Plot lines were nonexistent, characters refused to be born.

When he had first gotten to the UK, everything felt new and different... The city’s age had flown through Dean’s veins like fuel, and he had written maybe half a manuscript. But that fire had died away.

And so Dean’s routine resumed to sleep, work, stare at his computer screen desperately, cuddling Samandriel for as long as he wished to be cuddled and sleeping again.

He wasn’t unemployed, at the very least. He worked at a bookshop, and it wasn’t bad at all.

He was charismatic and respectfully flirty. Girls usually liked his “cute American accent”. So sales went well.

The bookshop had just finished building its very own cafe, which meant he had to cover more shifts than he usually did thanks to the increased amount of costumers.

It also meant the cute dark haired barista with a sweet smile that didn’t seem to be able to tear his eyes away from him when he went for a slice of pie and a cup of coffee during his break.

Dean liked him. He had a deep voice, a very original name - “Castiel” - and what he would never admit to anyone to think of as a “cute English accent”.

The Winchester was flirty and the barista was blushy, and by the end of Dean’s shift he was what he could only identify as completely infatuated.

When he got home that night, Castiel’s number saved on his phone under “Cas”, he had a shit eating grin on his face and a thousand ideas to write down.

 

It took Dean a week to realise his creativity increased whenever something Castiel-related happened.

New text message? New paragraph.

A specially endearing smile? New fucking chapter.

When he texted Dean inviting him for a morning walk on the second week’s Sunday morning, the blond thought he might just be able to write a full novel.

And that’s without mentioning all the damned _poems_.

They were everywhere, on napkins and receipts and his sweaty palms. By the third week, Dean bought three small notebooks he could carry around, and by the end of the second month, with their first actual date, they were all filled to the very covers.

The thing about Castiel was he made Dean feel _alive_.

Dean felt like he had felt when he first moved to London, except it never faded.

It was like Castiel was older than time itself, like the starstuff that once put him in place somehow managed to shine through, like he held oceans in his eyes and mountains on his skin and like the movement of his muscles made the engines of the whole universe _work_.

Kissing him was like travelling around the world in 80 seconds.

Loving him was like having his life spread on a map in front of Dean’s eyes and for the first time he felt he was in control of himself.

And all the writing... All the writing he could do, all the feelings he finally felt in tune with... All going onto paper or onto the keyboard or onto whatever he could put his hands on.

Falling in love with Castiel Novak was like breathing for the first time and the way he spoke about Dean made the green eyed man from Kansas finally _see_ himself.

He knew so much, Castiel. Dean had no idea how, had no idea where he had been hiding his whole life, had no idea how he could be so suddenly found.

When Dean’s first novel, “Raised From Perdition”, came out they celebrated in Dean’s bed.

Later Castiel had shed a tear on his first exemplar on the page where it read simply “For Castiel. Because your name is an epic story all on itself and I could never explain you even if I knew all of the words, all of the languages.”

Samandriel had meowed for attention.

And Dean had continued to fall into Cas, as he had been meant to all along.


	10. Join Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about a character asking another to join them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just... Idek? I found this prompt a long while ago and decided to write it into this thing? So yeah http://sugarcoatedbs.tumblr.com/post/81252413474/

The first time it happens, Castiel steps in silently. By the way Dean's voice had sounded in his head, he guessed the man must be in danger, and so he is invisible to anyone. He'd followed Dean's voice to wherever he is, but wherever he is is nowhere Cas would judge as “dangerous”. Because Dean is in his bedroom.

Castiel is confused. Dean's words had been breathy and shifty and low and husky... It was obvious he was in pain, or being tortured. Cas takes in a shaky breath. Yes. He is hurt, he has to be, as much as the angel hoped he really wasn't.

The thought of Dean being hurt had sent him into the Bunker in no time, but now what he finds is that Dean is in his bed. There is movement under the sheets. But no monster would dare to disturb Dean in his sleep, would they? Not here. It wasn't possible.

Then, Cas hears it again. Inside of his head, not in the air. Dean had not been praying out loud, no, he had been thinking the words. But how could his thoughts sound so faint and desperate?

_Cas... Fuck, Cas, I need you._

_Castiel... Castiel... Castiel..._

His name is repeated over and over again inside of his and Dean's heads, and Castiel thinks the hunter might be loosing consciousness, but just as he steps closer to Dean's bed he hears a weird noise. Wet and repetitive. Cas cocks his head. He knows that noise... He'd heard it before somewhere... Before Castiel could lift the sheets and simply check it, saving Dean from whatever it is that is attacking him, Dean lets out a loud, long moan, and his head emerges from under the sheets, his breath heavy and his forehead sweaty. 

He has his eyes closed and his lips parted, and Castiel watches as he gets rid of his boxers (that hit the floor with a wet slap), and he knows Dean is naked just under those sheets, and it sends a shiver down his spine, warmth pooling at the bottom of his stomach that he can't quite understand. 

The sheet clings to Dean's skin in multiple places, and he moves around with a frown on his forehead until he finally tugs the piece of fabric away and sends it flying in a ball towards the same direction he sent his underwear.

“Fucking... Fuck.” Castiel hears Dean mumbling as he rubs his face enthusiastically, and the Winchester finally turns his back to Castiel, his naked ass exposed, the muscles of his back tense until he seems to sag onto the bed, his breath now calm, and although Castiel knows he isn't sleeping, he has to leave. He has to leave right then. 

Because his vessel is behaving all weird, muscle that didn't usually feel hard tightening, and he could feel the blood in his body flowing towards the area. It's new and scary and it makes his mind all foggy, so Castiel flees, trying not to think too much about Dean's body lying on his bed exposed and inviting.

He decides, after the matter at hand had been dealt with (in other words, firmly ignored until it went away), that Dean had probably been sleeping and had a nightmare and the angel refuses to think of it again.

 

 

The next time, it is much earlier in the day when he is summoned, and as Castiel pops, invisible, in the Impala's front seat he finds Dean with his hand inside his pants. The angel frowns, worried and not quite understanding what could be going on. 

Had Dean managed to get his crotch hurt? How was that possible? He seemed to be so very protective of the area...

Cas is about to reach out and touch Dean healed when, with an impatient grunt, the hunter unzips his jeans, pulling out his penis.

Inside his head, Dean curses and calls him name, which only gets him even more confused, and he is about to reveal himself and ask if he had somehow offended Dean lately, but the blonde man starts stroking his hard member and the angry thoughts fade away.

Lust. That was what that pleading tone that filled Dean's prayers was. Lust. 

Why he was praying while masturbating was far from Castiel's understanding. 

Anyway, Castiel's brain isn't quite working at that moment in time. His vessel starts showing the very same behaviour it had the last time, his body catching up with the situation before his mind did.

The brunette had never felt that way, and his lips are parted as his eyes travel up and down Dean's body, never able to choose whether to fully focus on his hand, stroking his pre come slick cock, or his face, scrunched up beautifully as he moans.

He moans and he whimpers and oh, God, had he just called out Castiel's name?

Castiel wouldn't dare to make a sound or even move, but Dean didn't seem to care about that himself, not when they are in the side road, in the middle of nowhere.

The words echo, his vessel's ears catching them after his angel mind does, and it feels so overwhelming and confusing and Dean is thrusting up and swearing and Castiel feels the sudden and odd urge to latch onto him and take his cock in his mouth.

Instead, he flees the car in a split second, careful to conceal the ruffle of his unease wings in his rush.

Dean wants Castiel. And he'd very much like to say that the reciprocity is not true at all, but both his body and soul betray him in that moment.

As Castiel hides in a beautiful meadow, his cock in his hand, mirroring actions he'd seen Dean executing, the angel tells himself it's better if he ignores the hunter's “prayers” from now own.

As he comes, though, unable to contain his true voice, which echoes through the empty woods mercilessly, the seraph is pretty sure he would never be able to resist just another peek.

 

 

 

The next time Castiel takes a hell of a lot longer to make his way to the oldest Winchester, trying to convince himself it would be best to stay where he was, mind his own business.

But Dean's thoughts seem different, they come slow and steadily, not as if he weren't desperate for Cas, but as if he had no reason to rush. It teases his curiosity.

As Castiel lands in the Bunker, the emptiness of the place is the first thing he registers. Emptiness except for the presence of one Dean Winchester, who the dark haired angel finds lying on his bed, naked and sprawled out. His door is unlocked, and whoever walked in would have been able to see.

Able to see his cock pointing nobly towards his belly button, his legs spread wide apart so his teased ass hole is revealed. Not prepared, no. Just played with. And yet there's a bottle of lube on the night stand, and Castiel's forehead creases as he frowns. 

“Cas? You there?” He hears Dean's broken voice, and he _knows_ , Dean knows he's here. “You better show that pretty angel face of yours and join me.”

Castiel has no idea how Dean found out about his presence, but he reveals himself either way, taking a step closer to the Winchester. Freckles. Freckles everywhere. Dean is too beautiful to be true.

The hunter lazily strokes his cock, green eyes locked onto Castiel's face as he stares blatantly at his body. 

“Dean...” The angel croaks, his voice lower than usual. “I... Did you need my assistance?” 

“Oh, yes.” Dean's tone is teasing and Castiel feels he's saying more than he's hearing, but the angel can't decipher the words. “I need your help with those clothes of yours. They should be gone already.”

Castiel's breath gets caught in his throat. It's not as if he needs to breathe, not at all, but...

“Dean, I'm not sure...”

“Undress, Castiel.” The hunter demands, and in the next second Castiel's clothes are gone. He doesn't know where he sent them, but he doesn't care.

What matters is that he's standing naked and hard in the middle of Dean Winchester's bedroom. And that the blonde human lies on his bed, watching him as he rests his weight on his elbows.

Castiel wants to hide away, to leave. It was probably the best course of action to take, but he can't. He can't move a muscle, can't shift a feather in his wings.

“Dean...” Cas' tone is pleading, but he doesn't know what he's asking for.

“C'here, baby.” Dean urges him forward, his voice sweet and calming. 

Castiel obeys, walking over to the border of the bed, his knees touching the mattress as he waits for further instruction.

“Closer, Cas.” The hunter says, and maybe that's a hint of desperation in his voice, or maybe Castiel is just hearing things. 

He can't refuse, though, and he lays himself on the bed by Dean, who is now on his side so he can look at Castiel.

Dean's hand grabs his cock and before the angel can control himself a loud moan leaves his lips.

“You, Cas, have been such a mean little angel...” Dean starts saying, his fingers working up and down the angel's erection. “Spying on me while I jack off to the thought of you...”

“Dean...!” Castiel breathes out, holding onto Dean's forearm tightly. “Dean, I-- I'm sorry! Ah! So sorry, Dean, I'm...”

“You're gonna make it up to me, aren't you, baby? Gonna apologise for real.” Dean's words are punctuated by the movements of his fist. If he doesn't stop soon... “You're gonna spread those legs apart, and I'm gonna finger your ass hole until you're ready for me... To fuck you.”

Castiel comes. He's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to, but the look on Dean's face is one of pure hunger as he lifts his fingers up to his lips and sucks on them.

“We're so lucky you've got all that angel mojo with ya...” Dean says, licking his lips clean. “Otherwise I'd be so, so disappointed. Grab the lube, Cas.”

Castiel is blushing as he obeys. But he certainly wants to. He wants Dean to fuck him, he wants _Dean_.

The hunter pushes him so he's lying on his back and takes the lube from his hand. Dean is about to latch onto his task when he decides against it and straddles Castiel, one leg to each side of his hips. The angel is still surprised as Dean leans down and kisses him full on the mouth, swallowing his shocked little noises.

Castiel starts kissing him back eagerly, crossing his arms around the hunter's neck as he pulls him closer, opening his mouth to allow Dean's tongue inside.

Both of them had been wanting this for so long and it's painfully obvious in the way the cling onto each other, the bottle of lube falling to one side as Dean buries his fingers in Castiel's already messy hair.

The kiss, harsh and passionate as it was, still makes things quite clear. Dean's act... It is that. An act. It's a means to an end. They would eventually end up here, and if Dean is more comfortable acting like this – like he owns Castiel already, like he's allowed to throw orders around – Castiel is more than okay with it, as long as it gets him where he wants to be: under Dean, over Dean, just _close_ to Dean. 

It is extremely hot as well so... They are all set.

“Dean!” Castiel cries out against hungry lips when Dean's hard cock brushes against his own, which had sprung back to life not too long before.

Dean grins wickedly, and he tears them apart, kneeling between Castiel's wide-spread legs.

“Look so pretty like this, angel...” He whispers, his eyes locked on the lower section of Castiel's body. “Just... Damn edible.”

And Cas should have seen it coming, he really should have, because suddenly Dean leans a bit too forward, and his mouth is...

“Oh!” The vowel comes out of Castiel's parted lips in a gasp. “Oh, fuck, Dean...!”

Dean's mouth is between Cas' ass cheeks, and his tongue laps and tastes and just altogether _claims_ Castiel's hole.

The angel is writhing and thrusting down onto Dean's tongue in no time, moaning his name, begging  for _moremoremoreMORE_!

Dean finds the bottle of lube tangled between the sheets pooled under Cas' hips and opens it, squeezing a good amount onto his fingers.

His beforehand declared plans for Castiel had obviously been pretty literal, because he fingers Cas only long enough until the angel is ready, not even torturing him as he had been doing up until then. His three fingers had rendered Castiel speechless anyway, the angel not even able to moan or beg, simply silently gasping as his hips moved desperately to meet Dean's fingers halfway through their thrusts.

Dean hadn't been quiet, though. Instead he had muttered a prayer of the dirtiest stuff in the book, just praising Castiel and cursing and telling him exactly what he would be doing to him next.

When the blond hunter finally withdraws his lube-soaked fingers, he cleans them by wrapping them around his cock and stroking it twice. Castiel watches him through unfocused eyes because his vision is weirdly going black around the corners, and he worriedly wonders if angels pass out from being too damn aroused. 

Humans obviously do not, because he doesn't think Dean's cock can get any more erect or drip any more precome. 

As the blond positions himself, how silent Castiel actually had been seems to dawn on him, because he looks up and his tone is serious and not at all like the teasing or commanding tones he had used earlier when he asks a quiet “'Alright, Cas? Ready?” 

Castiel throws his arms around Dean's neck, crossing them there and nodding his head eagerly.

“ _Please_ , Dean...” He mumbles, and Dean takes no time at all to oblige to Castiel’s silent prayer.

When an angel prays for you, you can’t just say no, now can you?


	11. Kill Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about one character killing another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one drabble that sent me in this impossible mission of writing you 24 things. Originally, I was only going to write this one. It has been written and hidden away for almost a year now. I hope you'll like it. It may hurt a little. Sorry.

It had not been what Castiel wanted.

But Dean had been gone for so long. Hope that once had been strong now faded.

And if what Dean wanted was to be gone  _for good_  who was Castiel do deny him?

He loved him too much to do anything else.

So when Sam said his final goodbye, Castiel decided it was way past the time for him to say his temporary one. He'd follow Dean Winchester up to heaven. God, he'd follow Dean Winchester down to hell if that's what he needed to do once more.

Dean, his righteous man, who had been a stupid man when getting in a fight with a creature way too strong even for him to conquer.

The coma he found himself in was a natural one, and no, he was not supposed to be dying, and no, he wasn't even trying to stay alive. But although Castiel couldn't heal him, something bound him there, and though up until then what it was had been a mystery, to Castiel it was now clear as the green of Dean's ever closed eyes.

The angel stepped in Dean's head as he had grown so used to doing, and a silent sigh left his lips.

“Hello, Dean.” He greeted, stepping behind the hunter who had been watching TV with a beer in his hand until then.

“Cas.” Dean replied, nodding at the angel, but not really paying him much mind.

The movie-Sam was getting married.

Dean's mind was a funny thing. It didn't actually give him any company, but it played him his loved one's lives in that television. It was always the happiest life they could lead. And it was always a life that did not involve him.

“I don't think you were paying attention today?” Castiel questioned, stepping in front of the screen, and it was gone. They were floating now, nothing but dark void all around them. Dean disliked when that happened. He could almost feel the silence piercing his ears.

“No, not really. Gabriel and him adopted another puppy in today's episode.” Dean had a smirk on his face. He got off on the fact that his brother's happy ending seemed to involve Castiel's own brother.

Castiel suppressed a fond smile at that. Dean's behaviour was not acceptable, and he shouldn't encourage it. His watching people's lives only showed off more accurate signs of self deprecation.

“Sam came to say goodbye.” The angel said, his voice perfectly moulded. This was dangerous territory.

“I know that, Castiel.” Dean said, rolling his eyes, and he sat back, suddenly bringing back the last scenario as he fell on his chair.

“But you said...”

“I say lots of things, Cas.” Dean had this mocking façade on. Castiel knew what it meant. He did not like it.

“Well, then, do you still want to go?” Castiel wanted him to say no. What if a miracle happened, what if God decided to free Dean Winchester from his hurtful head? He'd watch Sam find a nice girl, and get married, and have a dog.

The main problems were all gone now, angels were up in heaven, demons were down in hell...

Earth was the safe place inbetween, and although some monsters still dwelt in it, they were mostly gone.

The Winchester boys were safe, they had the free card to go and live their lives, but Dean was dying.

Dean had no life left, because he had chosen not to fight any more.

Sometimes, Castiel wondered if this was the best or the worst decision he had ever made.

“Take me home, Castiel, you sonuvabitch.” Dean said, and he had that smile he put on when he was trying to look brave.

“Dean...” Castiel bit his lip, still unsure. The reason. The reason why Dean was locked up in here, the reason why he just wouldn't die or live. Castiel. The reason.

“Look, I know, all right?” Dean spat, getting to his feet and walking up to the angel. “I know that you know what's going on in here. I know that you know what I look like when I'm trying to be a bit of the strong bastard I should be, I know you know what I look like when I'm smiling my bloody tears away...” Dean shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe the information he had had forever. “I know all that, because I can see the same stuff in you. I... I cracked into your head as much as you cracked in mine, okay Cas? And I know you miss heaven.” The hunter wiped a tear away. “And I know I can't be on earth without you. And I know Sam wants a family and a dog and your brother's ass. I saw everyone's happy endings, Cas. I saw Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo... I saw everyone. But you... You were the only one who was unhappy. You're the only one who wouldn't move on from losing me.”

Dean stopped his speech. Hell, he sounded like a pretentious fucker.

“Dean... Please...” Castiel did not want to influence in Dean's choice in whether he'd stay on earth or not. To go would have to be his desire, and his alone.

Dean's chin shot up in the air.

“Shut up. We're going home. Turn the machines off. Touch my forehead dramatically. I don't care. You just kill me, Castiel, you kill me right now, because I won't be happy if you're not.”

The angel had no further points to make. Dean was right of course.  He had been right all along, all this while when he begged for Castiel to just end the mess someone else had started.

He frowned, as if trying to understand, but then he leaned in and kissed Dean's forehead.

The vessel in the trench coat stood by the hunter in the white hospital clothing. No one would ever understand the vastness of what that vessel held, just like they'd never understand all that hunter had inside. There were whole worlds right there, just under a few layers of fabric and skin, endless stars burning and dying only to come back to life.

Castiel, the angel of the Lord, did no such thing as touching Dean Winchester's forehead in a dramatic way.

Instead he held his hand, willing him to wake up in the next five minutes, because that was how long he gave himself.

Dean Winchester did no such thing.

When the time was up, Castiel felt as if his grace had lifted from his body, and as if it were floating about him and Dean, expanding its extension to the ceiling, eventually the walls, and eventually the whole room.

He waited until it had ceased its movements before he got up.

If he was to kill Dean, then let it be in the most human way he could muster.

The first machine to go down was the wrong one. That one that beeped when Dean's heart beat, that one that didn't do much, really, but let the other humans know Dean was alive.

Castiel had no idea what the other machines did. It didn't matter. He turned the first one on again, before Dean was completely gone.

His grace snapped back into his vessel like an elastic that had been pulled too far.

The never ending beep was simply cacophony on the background as he flew.

Up

 

 

     and up

and up  and up 

  and up 

                        and up

and up

 

           and up.

There was nothing bounding him to that planet any more. It's most perfect sample of humanity resided in heaven now.

 


	12. Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a poem on Dean and Cas' love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a taddy bit late, but it's still the 20th in Brazil so... Here. Happy birthday. You're kinda the Sam to my Dean? Kidding...! You'll always be my Cas.

It all happened as it should.  
First, there was Dean smiling.  
All freckles and green eyes and all that sadness, hiding behind the most beautiful face Castiel had ever seen.  
First, there was that.  
Then there was the sparkle, and the fire, and everything was burning up or down, or imploding with their desire... Their need to be loved.  
And it wasn’t anything but gorgeous, it was the most beautiful mix of hues and colours, the most strange, exotic mess, breathtaking, heart breaking...  
First, there was that.  
Then there were whispered words of love and longing and thinking and oh...  
Then there were shaky intakes of breath, there were gasps and tears and crying out loud because, oh, God... I love you like the stars loved the universe, so much they gave it life.  
Then, they lost count.  
Innumerable encounters, the ocean crashing against the beach, Castiel’s eyes open wide with adoration, mouths clasped together like hands in prayer.  
Last of all, there was the universe.  
Its whole incommensurable beauty collapsing into itself, screaming for its existence, and that love, still alive and breathing and fighting, trying to survive no matter if the ones who shared it were long gone, one of them stood strong, watched it die, one of them, had to be the one to cry.  
Last of all, there was Cas.  
Last of all, there were none.  
Last of all, I love you.  
Its echo rang throughout space and time and it burst into light as they all knew, all living things must die, but C and D were always meant to be together.


	13. Mourn Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a drabble about one character mourning another's death"

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Castiel rushes to say as she barges in through her daughter’s day care’s door at exactly 6:10pm.

The brunet is wet from head to toe, shaking slightly from both cold and her unsettled nerves. As a single mother, it is hard to juggle her two jobs and still have time to eat and sleep, let alone pick up her daughter Claire from child care. She does understand what’s fucked up with that situation, but it’s not exactly under her control.

As she brushes her dripping hair out of her face, she finds Mrs Winchester standing there, Claire in her arms, sleeping soundly with her head on her grandmother’s shoulder. She smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness to it, and Castiel pretends she doesn’t know what it means as she stands up straighter.

“Hi, Cas...” She greets, stepping forward. Mary is all calm-after-the-storm, all soft eyes and sweet expression. Her blond hair is now streaked with white, and it suits her. Age. It suits her. Castiel can’t help but to think back to her bright blond hair, though, to days when there was always a pie cooling on the kitchen window on nice spring days, when Deanna would stick around, circling it like a lion circling its prey, and Mary would bat her grabby hands away from it.

“Mary.” Castiel sighs in relief, fixing her bag on her shoulder and reaching for her daughter. The older woman hands Claire over with ease, her eyes pure kindness as she moves them over the petite body, making sure not to wake her with the transition.

Castiel tightens her arms around the blond girl like she always did, almost to make sure she was truly there, mostly as a hug.

“Thank you.” The brunette whispers, looking down at her daughter even if the words are directed to the other Winchester in the room.

“Oh, Cas, you’re here...” Samandriel, the day care’s owner, says as he walks into the room, his bag hanging from his shoulder, obviously ready to close up and head home. “Sorry, you said if you weren’t here by five to six I should call Mary and I...”

“No, Samandriel. It’s all okay.” Castiel cuts in, shaking her head. “It’s my mistake, I thought I could make it in time, and I almost did, but... Yeah. The rain.”

“The rain you obviously walked under from the bus stop here.” Mary reprimands, squinting her wise eyes at Castiel’s state.

“Well, yeah... I had to. It’s nothing.” Cas is distractedly trying to get her closed umbrella from her purse’s front pocket as she speaks, and Samandriel and Mary share worried looks over her head. “I’m sorry you had to come for nothing, Mary. I’ll get this one home, now.”

Claire seems to take that as a cue, and her little arms snake around Castiel’s neck.

“Mommy?” Comes her small, rusty voice as she raises her head a little, rubbing one of her still closed eyes with the back of her hand.

“No, babe, it’s...” Castiel tries to say, to explain, despite the feeling of tightness that sets in her throat as if someone is trying to suffocate her.

“Ma!” Claire intervenes, smiling weakly, not fully awake yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, hi bumble bee...” Cas greets.

“Didn’t say bye-bye to Alfie!” The five year old sounds outraged and worried, the frown on her forehead deep.

“Still here, little one.” Samandriel steps closer and runs his fingers through the little girl’s hair. “Your Ma came to pick you up. We’re saying bye-bye now, though.”

Claire sleepily blows a kiss in the general direction of Samandriel’s voice, her eyes already closed again, and she whispers “bye-bye” before stilling, her breathing slowing down once more.

Mary smiles fondly, positioning herself behind Cas so she can drop a kiss on her granddaughter’s cheek.

“There she goes again. Hopefully she’s down for good. I better go take the bus home while the rain is weak as it is.” The older woman says, and she lays a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, her voice shifting into what Castiel recognizes as its motherly tone. “You... Go home and take a warm shower, okay honey? We can’t have you getting sick, now, can we? Careful catching the bus. Bye, Samandriel...”

And with that she is out the door, her coat pulled tightly around her as she leaves, back a little hunched to protect her from the cold.

“Well, I’m going too.” Castiel says to Samandriel just as the door closes behind Mary. “I’m sorry once more for being late so often, Samandriel.”

The owner shakes his blond head and smiles sadly.

“It’s only been six months, Cas. It’ll take you more than that to get used to this. You know she’ll always be in good hands while she waits for you here.”

Castiel knows he means well, and it’s not his fault, but her body tenses anyway. She won’t be getting used to “this”, she knows better than to believe that even for a second. But it’s her job to fall into the routine, to take care of Claire, to be better. If she weren’t such a coward... Some day. Some day. Hopefully sooner than later.

“I know.” The brunette says instead of sharing any of the thoughts. “Thank you.”

Samandriel nods.

“You’re welcome, Castiel. See you tomorrow. Don’t forget to send the extra pair of clothes, Friday is Art Day.” He says, smiling once more as he opens the front door for her. He doesn’t offer her a ride home as he had done for the first several months. He knew better now.

“I wouldn’t dare to.” Is Cas’ way of saying goodbye, and her umbrella is open over herself and her daughter as she walks off towards the bus stop, stopping the light drizzle from wetting them.

 

Castiel hates getting the bus home. She used to love it when she was younger, with her strict religious family the bus was her one taste of the independence she longed for. That and lying on the floor of Deanna’s room, all doors and windows closed, looking up at the phosphorescent dots and stars Mary had helped her glue to the ceiling, speaking about everything and anything she wanted to, not having to hold her tongue, not having to think twice before implying something her family might find blasphemous.

Now, though... Now it’s a reminder. It’s actually a way of trying to forget, but trying to forget is just another reminder.

She tries not to think much as the streets run past the window, because thinking is the easiest path to remembering too much.

She likes remembering in her home, where she can grasp the backs of chairs and spill a tear or two or just cry non stop for an hour.

The bus rides are the moment in which she’s most tired, and most susceptible to all the memories and all the misery. So instead of thinking she holds on to her daughter and counts the little fingers in her hands, the little freckles on her face... Counting isn’t thinking. Counting is just that.

 

Getting home. Castiel hates that too. In fact, she can count on the fingers of one hand what she likes about her days now, and most of the things are related to Claire.

She _is_ trying, she truly is. Her therapist had said she’d need to stay positive. Everyone had said she would need to stay positive.

But Castiel had never _been_ positive to begin with. The one positive thing in her life had always been Dean.

“Of course you’ll get out of your parents’ home one day, Cas.”

“They won’t marry your off to your cousin, Cas.”

“You’ll survive finals, Cas.”

“You’ll get that scholarship, Cas.”

All the things Dean had said, the things she had hoped that would be true, became laws in Castiel’s life. If Deanna had said it, then it must have been true, it would become true, it had to be true.

Cas ignores the forever Dean had predicted like she once ignored the bible’s view on homosexuals, she even uses the same excuse: nothing is perfect.

The only gospel she cares about is Deanna Winchester’s one, though. The one thing she could ever adore, Dean’s skin, Dean’s blood, Dean’s heart.

As she lays Claire down on her bed, covering her to the chin with her favourite blanket before kissing her forehead lovingly, she could never be more certain.

All that had ever come from Dean is sacred.

 

Castiel’s sleeping hours are parallel not only to her exhaustion, but to how much she misses Dean.

Her showers are longer depending on how much she wishes there were warm fingers on her skin.

Even the amount of food she shovels into her mouth is in direct relation to Dean, still, somehow.

The Novak’s entire universe had orbited around Deanna then, there was no reason why it would stop now.

Just because the garage is now empty, just because Sam doesn’t have the strength to show up for their monthly dinner anymore, just because of the big hole on her bed, on her chest.

It doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s absence is a physical being, it has her height, her weight, her smell, even the ghost of her warmth. It is almost as if she were right there, except she wasn’t, and that was the whole problem all along.

Castiel fights it, though. She gets up in the mornings, she goes through her day, she lays down to sleep at night.

She didn’t have the luxury of dying with Dean, not when Claire was right there, gorgeous and amazing, all that potential held in such a small body, all that greatness.

Some moments are harder to survive than others. Like Claire desperately looking for her Mommy at least once a day. Like those seconds before Castiel’s fully awake when she reaches across their bed to find it always empty, always cold. Like the silence in the mornings without Dean there do hum a melody as she chooses the day’s plaid shirt, as she puts on her ankle boots, as she kisses Cas good morning.

It’s always so hard to drop Claire off at preschool by herself, to have Mary pick her up and take her to day care, to have to adjust to living around the bus’ schedule because she can’t even think of getting in cars anymore, not after seeing Baby destroyed, not after being called in to identify Deanna’s body.

But she’s making do, she’s being strong, putting all her best effort into work, into being an editor from 9am to 1pm and a librarian from 1:30pm to 5:30pm and most importantly into being Claire’s Ma, 24/7, non stop.

“Tiring” seems to have stuck to her daily vocabulary, it’s so constant it is almost tattooed to the back of her mind by now, almost a part of her already.

It doesn’t really matter. How she feels about it, it’s not the main thing.

The important thing, is that once there was Deanna.

Dean, her best friend, her only friend, from the very beginning, to Dean’s very end.

What did matter, what was important, were the memories. The afternoons at Dean’s place, braiding her little brother’s long hair for fun, being part of the Winchester family like she never had been a part of her own.

 _Belonging_. She had never understood the meaning of that until Deanna was a part of her life.

What mattered was walking into Dean’s room at thirteen, scared, but finally coming out, ready for the blow, ready for being laughed at and left behind, only to have Dean kiss her, the first time there were ever welcome lips against hers, nothing like that first time a boy a year older cornered her and stole a kiss that left her in tears.

What mattered were the books, the TV shows, the bands, the songs, the love letters, the inside jokes, the touches, the kisses, the sex (the orgasms), the laughter, the night ins, the breakfasts in bed, the _beds_ — from single beds, to the queen sized one they bought when they moved in together —, the sofas, the car.

The car.

Getting married.

The decision of having a baby. The anticipation, the fear, the hope. What mattered was the positive pregnancy test. What mattered were the late night cravings. Whispered conversations at 4am when Claire would move just so and Dean wouldn’t be able to sleep so they would set their hands on her stomach, a silent “it’s okay, we understand” even as Deanna whined about not being able to sleep.

What mattered was Dean. Every second Cas spent with her, every last moment.

It mattered. It matters. It will always matter, independently of what comes next, how badly life decides to fuck up.

No matter if the driver will be drunk and cross a red light.

It doesn’t matter if the Impala’s front will be destroyed, and Dean will die instantly, and Claire will be on the back seat, just a few centimetres away from being gone.

Nothing that ever happened could change that. The way Castiel will always love Deanna.

And maybe sleeping alone after all those years of having Dean is the hardest part of it all, but there’s no regretting all that was shared under that same roof.

The plans. The promises. They will always be relevant.

Even if Dean can’t be there to carry them on with her, to share the burden of loving so dearly, so greatly.

There’s a piece of her under Castiel’s skin that got there before they even knew what love really meant.

There’s a room in Cas’ mind where Deanna will live ever on.

There’s an empty grave by Deanna’s one. There’s her wedding ring resting on her finger.

She was never meant to be a widow at 35.

But then again, she was never meant to have Deanna at all.

Things just happen. All there is left for her to do is hope really hard there’ll be some good coming out of it.


	14. Nuzzle Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You inspired me with rainy days, I couldn't resist.

There’s something about the hours after a rainy day, when the sun ventures out from behind its dark clouds, when all the minuscule droplets sticking to Castiel’s flowers’ petals look like crystallized tears.

There’s a stillness to it, a sense of home that won’t give out. It’s like Castiel and the whole universe are in synchrony for those moments, like he belongs more than ever before.

He enjoys sitting on a damp blanket among the grass then, breathing in and out almost carefully, meticulously, feeling the fresh air and the smell of wet dirt wash him clean.

Then and only then Cas can see everything so clearly. He can feel his and Dean’s love exhaling from their house, he can feel the happiness his garden shares with him crashing against his skin like waves against the beach.

And on the not so rare occasions when Dean will join him, the blond is all silent adoration, watching him while he keeps his eyes closed, meditating over Cas’ skin while Castiel meditates about everything, and for once Castiel doesn’t feel like he’s loved more than he deserves to be.

They share each other’s warmth for what feels like eras, but when the rain water starts soaking up their clothes Dean always ends up breaking the spell.  
“Time to go inside, angel,” he says, and they walk into their home hand in hand, fingers interlaced firmly.

Sometimes then, Dean will undress him and kiss his every spot, hold him like he’s precious, make love to him like that expression isn’t a sappy cliché.

Sometimes, like today, Castiel makes them tea, and they end up tangled in blankets in the living room couch, the first piece of furniture they bought together, an oversized monstrosity they got from IKEA, talking lowly about future plans, about work, about life.

Cas loves Dean specially those days, the days when his green eyes hold nothing back, when he’s fully relaxed, comfortable in his own skin, when he knows no matter how much Dean complains about his garden attracting too many bees, about Castiel getting colds from sitting in the cold wet ground, he’s happy for it.

He wonders more often than not if maybe Dean doesn’t love those days as much as he himself does, and he’s sure he knows the answer when Dean smiles at him in a way that makes him look like he’s still 16 and shy, like they just met, like they just shared their first sloppy and needy kiss in his bed after a sleepover gone righter than either of them could have expected.

Castiel knows, so they don’t say much after that, and soon he has his nose buried in Dean’s neck, nuzzling the freckled skin, because maybe the smell after the rain leaves him feeling clean, maybe his garden makes him happy, maybe he marvels at the beauty of the world most days, but none of that compares to how he feels when Dean is all he sees and feels.

There are no possible metaphors for it. It can only be his very literal personal heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you and i'm sorry


	15. one for the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't just let you go without saying goodbye. I'm selfish like that.

"So this is it, huh?"

  
"I suppose so, Dean."

  
The Winchester breathes deeply.

  
He has a life of hunting monsters behind him. He has a book full of goodbyes. Every weird, bad, awkward, different situation you can imagine, you can bet Dean Winchester has been through it.

  
There's nothing that sits quite like this, though.

  
"Flapping your wings away into the sunset," the hunter thinks out loud, stealing a look at the angel.

  
"Not quite," Castiel corrects him, an unspoken reminder that he isn't coming out of this whole enough to still have his wings.

  
"Close enough," Dean declares, looking pointedly away.

  
He tries not to think about being alone. He'll have Sam. He'll meet other people. _But he'll still be lonely_ , a little voice in the back of his head tells him.

  
With a sigh, he stands up straight in the Bunker's kitchen, and he thinks he wants a good cup of coffee, but he knows Cas would rather tea.

  
So he brews it, silence as thick in the air as the scent of the fruity blend. Dean tells himself this is in no way exactly what Castiel smells like. He makes a mental note to buy more of the stuff either way.

  
The knowing blue eyes follow his every moment, studying him like only Cas ever could.

  
"Finally out of the trenches, man. You better enjoy it," the mugs are sent on the table, and Dean gives up trying to stand up, trying to avoid Castiel's stare. He sits down and waits instead.

  
"I will, Dean," Cas promises, and for once he's not lying.

  
Castiel had been granted a one-way ticket to Heaven, even though he had never thought he would be welcomed back home again.

  
Dean looks around. This is home for him. Finally, walls and a roof and a warm bed at night. His brother right around the corner, his Baby parked in the parking lot. Sam's books everywhere, because he doesn't need to worry about packing them close together in case they have to flee. Cable - which he pays monthly - on the TV Dean actually bought himself. A comfortable couch. A kitchen. Castiel sitting across from him on the table, looking at him like he's worthy. Like he's still that righteous man... Like he matters.

  
"I'm gonna miss you, man," Dean chokes out, and he sips his tea so he can swallow his tears with more ease. The lump in his throat doesn't give, though.

  
"I will miss you too, Dean," Castiel looks around. Dean tells himself he's trying to commit the room to his memory, to make sure he won't forget. "I should, however, hit the road, as you say. Thomas said the portal will be open only in Missouri, for a very brief time tomorrow. I have a plane to catch."

  
Dean purses his lips.

  
"Yeah, of course. I'll just get Sam... And we'll--"

  
"I'll take a bus to the airport, it's only a few miles away, I can get myself there," Cas gets up and empties his mug in the sink. "I've already said my goodbyes to Sam."

  
"Right," Dean gets up too, leaving his tea behind. "I suppose... That's that, then."

  
"Right," Cas nods, and he squints at Dean for a moment only, before offering him his hand.

  
Dean takes it. Shakes it. He wants to pull the angel in for a hug.

  
"Thanks for everything, man," the Winchester says, and it sounds stupid and impersonal even to his own ears.

  
"Thank _you_ , Dean," Cas stares into his eyes, and his words are warm, and his grip is tight.

  
"You don't have to go, you know," the words are out of his lips before he can even think twice, and Dean blushes as he retreats his hand, crossing his arms. "I mean..."

  
"I do have to, Dean. It's time to go home," Castiel's chin is up in the air as he says it, and he sounds so sure, Dean can't argue.

  
"That's that, then," he repeats, mostly to himself.

  
"Goodbye, Dean," the angel says, and he steps out the door, and up the stairs, and drives away.

  
Dean doesn't move, won't dare to, because maybe if he's still enough he can turn back time and beg Castiel to stop this nonsense.

  
But the arrangements have been made and had made sure that after he zaps to Heaven Jimmy Novak's body would get a proper burial, next to his wife, an actual grave his daughter could go to, where she would be sure he would be resting in peace.

  
Dean sighs, finally running his hands through his face, ignoring his achy eyes. He's not gonna cry.

  
He sits down, drinks his tea.

  
_See you around, Cas_ , he thinks, hard and careful enough to transform the thought into prayer; for a fleeting moment, he believes himself.


End file.
